


Remember Me

by Freckles_From_Brooklyn



Series: Preemptive Fix-it Fics because god knows we're gonna need it [41]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Memory Loss, Post canon, Preemptive fix it, This is a long one, and potential spoilers for 198 199 and 200, contains definite spoilers for 197
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:54:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29881443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freckles_From_Brooklyn/pseuds/Freckles_From_Brooklyn
Summary: Jon and Martin get separated after the panopticon collapses
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: Preemptive Fix-it Fics because god knows we're gonna need it [41]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2132277
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48





	Remember Me

“JON!” Martin called desperately. “Jon, where are you?” He dropped to his knees, his body racked with coughs as smoke filled his lungs, but he pushed himself back to his feet. “JON!” 

“Martin, stop!” Georgie grabbed his arm. “Look, you can’t keep doing this to yourself! He’s gone, Martin.”

“No!” Martin wrenched his arm free. “No, he’s not gone! He can’t be gone! I’d know if he’s gone, I’d feel it! JON! JON!!!” Georgie grabbed his arm again. 

“Look, Martin, it’s not safe out here!” she said. “If Jon’s alive, I’m sure he’s okay. We have to get you inside. You won’t be any good to him dead.” Martin could do nothing but cough in response, his throat raw and aching from yelling and from smoke inhalation. He allowed Georgie to lead him back to the old office building that they’d been using as a home base. As soon as they were inside, Martin went straight to the small room he’d claimed as his own. He collapsed on his bedroll and sobbed. 

There was a knock on the door. It had been four days since the panopticon fell, and two days since Georgie and Martin had stopped searching for Jon. Martin hadn’t left his room at all since then. The knock came again. 

“Come in,” Martin said, his voice hoarse. Georgie opened the door, holding a mug of tea and a plate containing a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She sat down next to Martin, handing him the plate and the mug. 

“You should eat,” She said.

“I’m not hungry,” Martin replied. 

“Martin, you haven’t eaten anything in two days,” Georgie said. “Eat the damn sandwich. Drink the tea, too. It’s lemon and honey. Should help your throat.” Martin reluctantly took a bite of the sandwich. 

“You really miss him, huh?” Georgie said. Martin nodded silently.

“I miss him too,” Georgie said. “Even though… even though we weren’t dating anymore, I still considered him one of my closest friends.”

“He— he promised me,” Martin said quietly. “In the safehouse, he promised he’d never leave me alone again.” 

“Oh, Martin.” Georgie rubbed his back gently. 

“It’s not fair,” Martin said, a note of bitterness creeping into his voice. “It’s not fucking fair! It’s over! We won! Why does it feel like I lost?”

“Look, if he’s still alive, I’m sure he’ll find you,” Georgie said. 

“Yeah, I guess,” Martin said doubtfully. 

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” Georgie asked. 

“Yes, please,” Martin replied. 

“Alright,” Georgie said. “Eat your sandwich, and remember, I’m here to talk if you need it.”

“Okay,” Martin said. “Thanks, Georgie.”

“No problem,” Georgie replied, standing up and walking out of the room. 

After things returned to some semblance of normalcy, Martin left London. He couldn’t bear to stay in the city a second longer than was necessary. He managed to find a small, unoccupied cottage in the Scottish countryside, and he went to work, fixing it up and decorating it the way he and Jon had always discussed. It was nice enough, but there was always something missing, and Martin knew exactly what it was: Jon. This was supposed to have been their home, their haven, their happily ever after, but it wasn’t. It was just him. Alone. As always. Years passed with no sign of Jon, and Martin started to think that maybe Georgie might have been right. Maybe he was gone. He shoved that thought aside and decided to go for a drink at the local pub. Maybe that would dull the pain. 

There was a stranger sitting at the bar as Martin walked into the pub, and he drew Martin’s attention immediately. The stranger was small, with a slender frame and long grey-streaked black hair pulled into a neat ponytail. Martin sat down next to him, and saw that the stranger had a telltale scar slashed across his throat and a burn scar on his right palm. 

“Erm, sorry to interrupt your drink, but, uh, you wouldn’t happen to be Jonathan Sims, would you?” He asked nervously. The stranger—  _ Jon _ — looked at him with those beautiful, familiar dark brown eyes.

“Yes, I would,” he said. “Do I know you?” Martin’s heart dropped. He thought back to what Annabelle Cane had said all those years ago.  _ John would lose much of himself, the parts of him that are The Eye.  _

“Uh, yes, I think so,” he said. “I— I’m Martin Blackwood. We, um, we used to work together at the Magnus Institute. And— and we used to date.” Jon’s expression brightened. 

“Martin!” He exclaimed. “Yes, I remember now! Or, well, I remember working with you. I can’t say I remember us ever dating, though. I’m sorry, something happened to me a few years ago and it caused some memory loss.”

“It’s okay,” Martin replied. 

“It’s been a while since I saw you,” Jon said. “How have you been?”

“I’ve— I’ve been okay,” Martin lied. He’d been miserable. He’d been able to function, but he missed Jon too much to really live a happy, fulfilling life. “Yourself?”

“I’ve been good,” Jon said, smiling.

“I, er, don’t suppose you’d want to go back to my house for a chat?” Martin said, then immediately kicked himself mentally.  _ You just reconnected, idiot. You’re practically strangers. Of course he doesn’t want to go home with you. That’s really fucking creepy. _

“Sure.” Jon’s voice jolted Martin out of his thoughts. 

“Wait, really?” he asked. 

“Yes,” Jon said. “That sounds lovely, actually.” he grabbed his coat from where it hung under the bar, paid his tab, and stood up, following Martin out of the pub. 

The drive from the village to Martin’s cottage didn’t take long, but it felt like an eternity spent in awkward silence. Martin pulled up in front of the small house, and Jon followed him inside, looking around at the decor.

“This is a nice house,” He said, smiling at a bunch of lilacs that Martin had pressed and framed. “I especially like these. Lilacs are my favorite flowers. Do you like them too?”

“Yes,” Martin said. “They’ve always been my favorite.” he didn’t have the heart to admit that he’d pressed them simply because they reminded him of Jon. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Biscuits?”

“No, thank you,” Jon said, settling down in a comfortable armchair. Martin sat down on the couch. 

“So, you said you had some memory loss?” Martin asked. “Can— can I ask what the last thing you remember is?” Jon frowned, thinking hard. 

“There’s a man,” he said. “He’s dead. Covered in blood. And— and people think I killed him, but I didn’t. I had to leave the Magnus Institute after that. I don’t remember anything that happened afterwards until I woke up in the hospital. I’m sorry.” Martin took a deep breath. 

“It’s okay,” he said. “Do— do you want me to tell you what happened after that?”

“Would you?” Jon asked. 

“Yes, of course, if you want me to,” Martin said. 

“Yes, please,” Jon said. Martin took another deep breath and started talking, telling Jon about the entities, about the unknowing, about the apocalypse. When he finished, he noticed that it was nearing midnight. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve kept you far too long. I can take you home, if you want, or—” he bit his lip nervously. “Or you could stay the night, if you want. There’s a guest bedroom.”

“I’d love to stay the night, if that’s okay with you,” Jon said. 

“Yes, of course,” Martin said. He led Jon to the guest bedroom, pausing by his room to grab one of his old shirts and a pair of pajama pants for Jon. “Well, goodnight,” he said once Jon had gotten situated in the room. 

“Goodnight, Martin.” Jon smiled up at him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Martin replied. 

The next morning, scones were baking in the oven and Martin had put a kettle on for tea when Jon emerged from the guest bedroom. 

“Good morning,” he said, settling down at the table. 

“Good morning,” Martin replied. “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please,” Jon said. “You always did make excellent tea.” Martin hurriedly turned back to his tea cupboard before Jon could see his blush. 

“What kind do you want?” he asked. 

“Do you have oolong?” Jon asked, and he paused a moment before laughing. “No, no, of course you don’t. You hate oolong.” Martin froze.

“How do you know that?” He asked. 

“You told me,” Jon said. 

“In the safehouse,” Martin said. “I told you in the safehouse, and I know I didn’t mention it last night.”

“Yes, you told me in Daisy’s safehouse,” Jon said. “I remember. Do you have any lemon tea?”

“Yes, I do,” Martin took the box down, selecting a box of raspberry tea for himself. “What else do you remember?”

“Not a lot,” Jon admitted. “It’s coming back very slowly. I think hearing you talk about it last night helped.”

“Would— would you mind telling me everything you remember?” Martin’s hands shook as he opened the boxes of tea, placing the tea bags in mugs so they’d be ready when the kettle boiled. 

“Yes, I can do that,” Jon said. “I remember standing with you on a foggy beach. The— the Lonely, I think it was called. I was scared. Not of the Lonely, but of losing you. You were dragged in there, and— and you were fading. But I didn’t lose you. I got you out.” the kettle whistled as it came to a boil, and Martin poured the hot water into the mugs, handing one to Jon. “Oh! Thank you!” Jon said. “Do you want me to keep going?”

“Please do,” Martin said, now sitting down at the table. 

“It wasn’t safe for us to stay in London,” Jon said. “So we packed up and we left. Our friend Daisy had a cottage here in Scotland, so we went there.” he chuckled. “We were so awkward around each other at first. But then you found some of Daisy’s jazz records, and you put one on, and we danced together, and we kissed, and— oh!”

“What?” Martin asked. 

“I made you a promise.” Jon looked sad. “I promised you that I’d never leave you again. I— I broke my promise. I’m sorry, Martin.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Martin reached out and took Jon’s hand, running his thumb over Jon’s knuckles as he’d done so many times before. “It’s okay. You didn’t leave me, we got separated.”

“What’s the difference?” Jon asked. Martin laughed. 

“You used to always be the pedantic one out of the two of us,” He said. “Have the tables turned now?”

“Oh, not in the slightest,” Jon replied. “According to some of my coworkers, I’m very pedantic and incredibly annoying.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised,” Martin said. “But the difference between leaving and getting separated is the intention. We didn’t mean to get separated, but if you’d left me, it would’ve been intentional.”

“Hmm, I suppose,” Jon said. He looked around the cottage. “You decorated the cottage the way we always wanted to,” he said. Martin nodded. “Were you waiting for me all this time?” Jon asked. 

“Yes,” Martin said. “I couldn’t shake the feeling that you were alive, and that you’d come back to me, so— so I tried to live the life we’d talked about.”

“And you never dated anyone else?” Jon asked. 

“No,” Martin said. “There— I don’t think there’s anyone else on this earth who could make me as happy as you’ve made me, Jon.” he took a sip of his tea. “Have you dated anyone else?” he asked hesitantly. Jon shook his head. 

“It— it always felt wrong,” he said. “I couldn’t figure out why until now. There must have been a part of me that remembered you.”

“Please don’t leave me again,” Martin begged, clutching Jon’s hand like a lifeline. “God, I missed you so much, Jon. I— I couldn’t bear to lose you again.”

“I won’t leave you,” Jon said firmly. “I promise you, Martin Blackwood, I’ll never leave you again.” 

“Can I kiss you?” Martin asked. 

“Please do,” Jon replied. Martin leaned in and pressed his lips to Jon’s, his arms wrapping around the smaller man’s waist. The kiss was perfect. It was everything Martin had been missing for the last five years. He felt free, as if a tremendous weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

“I love you,” he whispered breathlessly once they finally broke apart. 

“I love you too,” Jon replied. “With all of me.”


End file.
